


At The Close of the Day

by wildxwired



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Happy Mickey, Husbands, Ian has a beard and Mickey digs it, M/M, Post season ten, Smut, bad day, they just really love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildxwired/pseuds/wildxwired
Summary: But no one’s dead or in jail or trying to murder him. So it doesn’t really register that he's had a bad day until he’s finally home, when he steps through the Gallagher front door and is immediately enveloped by noise and warmth. It’s a relief to shut the door and let the familiar chaos of his family embrace him tightly.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 36
Kudos: 374





	At The Close of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had a shitty couple days so I wrote this to cheer myself up 😊

Mickey’s never had a bad day before. He’s had shitty days, sure — utterly terrifying, life on it’s ass, probably gonna die, _how the hell do I get the blood out of this?_ days, yeah. But not a bad day just built around a steady stream of inconveniences and irritating fuck ups. Y‘know, the kind of bad day _normal_ people with regular problems get to have. The kind of bad day where the train breaks down so you’re late to work and the teenage manager gives attitude Mickey knows he doesn’t have the balls to back up, or where there’s a woman who looks just like Mandy and Mickey’s heart rockets in excitement before dropping in disappointment when he realises it’s not her. He’d also forgotten his lunch and had precisely three dollars on him, so he’d had to steal half of the snot-nosed kid managers PB and J his mom probably made for him, and eat it out by the trash whilst flipping off the security cameras. The train was still fucked when the end of the day came, and Mickey’s had to sit on the city bus for the last forty minutes opposite a guy that makes Frank Gallagher look like a youth pastor. 

But no one’s dead or in jail or trying to murder him. So it doesn’t really register that he's had a bad day until he’s finally home, when he steps through the Gallagher front door and is immediately enveloped by noise and warmth. It’s a relief to shut the door and let the familiar chaos of his family embrace him tightly. 

“Who the fuck pissed on your Froot Loops?” Carl asks from the couch as he cranes his neck to watch Mickey pull off his scarf and coat. 

“What?” Mickey grumbles, annoyed, though he doesn’t really care about the answer. 

“Bad day? You look pissed.”

“I think that’s just his face,” Lip quips as he sets a bowl of chips in the middle of the coffee table. Mickey smirks sarcastically and flips off his least favourite brother-in-law with gusto, to which the prick simply grins and laughs. 

“Every day I realise I’m now related to you is a bad fucking day,” Mickey snaps back, the lazy insult not carrying much venom. 

Even Liam arches a brow from his spot on the armchair at that. 

“Wow, you didn’t even finish that sentence with _bitch_ or _asshole_. You sure you’re okay, man?” Lip says, surprised. If Mickey were an optimist he might even say that his bitch asshole of a brother-in-law looks concerned. 

Mickey arranges his face in a softer scowl and shakes his head sharply. He thinks about hurling out some insults, but ends up sighing and shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“I'm fine, guys. Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he assures them.

“There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge,” Liam pipes up. “We’re just about to watch a movie if you wanna join. Your husband is upstairs watching Netflix.”

“Your husband is being an antisocial fucker,” Lip explains. 

“Your husband ate in your room,” Carl adds. 

Mickey rolls his eyes. They’ve been referring to him and Ian as _your husband_ when talking about one to the other since the wedding. They think it’s annoying him, and maybe it is a little, but the joke’s on them because secretly he fucking loves it. 

People somehow still think Mickey’s mad about losing his Milkovich street cred now that he’s hitched and shacked up with this circus of a family, working his nine to five and coming home to his husband every night like some domesticated little bitch. But he loves that too. 

“He okay?” Mickey asks, glancing up the stairs with worry. 

Lip nods and reaches forward for a handful of chips. “Probably just a bad day at work or he’s tired. I’m sure it’s nothing a little old school dry humping and some pillow talk couldn’t fix.” 

Mickey flips off the general room as he begins stalking up the stairs, not lowering his hand until he’s well out of sight. 

When he slips through the shitty accordion door, he finds the room dark and his husband in bed, watching a movie on their laptop that’s propped on a chair at the end of the bed. He’s in his boxers and socks, lay back against a stack of cushions, looking illogically adorable _and_ hot with his copper stubble/extra curls combo and those fucking Mickey and Minnie Mouse socks some idiot bought them as their wedding gift. 

As soon as his eyes land on Ian, everything feels lighter. His shoulders relax as his body responds automatically to being in close proximity to his husband. There’s still that kick of disbelief in Mickey’s chest when his eyes catch the glint of Ian’s wedding ring, like this is the peak of the best dream he’s ever had and he’ll wake up in some place treacherous and lonely any second now. Then Ian looks up at him as his face softens from concentration to jubilance, and Mickey’s next breath comes out in a quiet stutter. 

“Hey,” Ian greets with a happy smile as Mickey closes the door behind him. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too,” Mickey says, kicking off his boots and emptying his pockets before slowly and methodically removing his uniform, placing it on the dresser. When he’s down to his boxers and socks (plain black, fuck that damn mouse) he scrambles into bed and flops onto his front, half draping himself over his husband’s chest. 

Instantly Ian’s strong arms enclose him, and he feels the almost invisible brush of knuckles under his chin as his face is tilted upwards. Mickey closes his eyes and opens his mouth to the kiss immediately, letting it be languid and pliable beneath Ian’s guide. He can feel the soft scratch of Ian’s stubble above his top lip and then along his jaw, and he’d be lying if he said the buzz from his raw skin didn’t excite him. 

“Hi,” Ian says quietly, withdrawing from the kiss to stare down at Mickey and press a thumb to his cheekbone. 

“Hey yourself,” Mickey smirks, studying Ian’s eyes as he searches them for any signs of need.

“Everything okay?” Ian asks slowly. 

“Your brothers said you had a bad day,” Mickey says, bringing his hand to Ian’s chest to give his fingers a stage to dance on. 

Ian breathes steadily as Mickey’s fingers roam up and down his sternum. “Kinda. No biggie, though.”

He looks sure and Mickey can see him watching his face, waiting for Mickey to accept that Ian really is okay. Mickey nods. He trusts Ian to tell him things he needs to know or things he wants Mickey to know, everything else isn’t important. 

“‘Kay. My day sucked too,” he replies, letting his head fall to rest on Ian’s chest as a signal that it’s nothing serious, but Ian still makes a gruff little noise and curls his arms protectively around Mickey. “What the fuck are you watching?”

On the laptop screen there’s a chick with sharp teeth and ridiculous hair backed up by two huge dudes as they bare their fangs and growl and hiss. 

“Blade Trinity,” Ian replies, dropping a kiss to the top of Mickey’s head. 

“Why?” It’s at that moment a buff, bearded, and bleeding Ryan Reynolds appears on screen, shirtless and chained to the ground. “Ah, that’s why.”

Ian hums and squeezes Mickey a little. “I do love a man with good beard game.”

Mickey turns his head and bites harshly at Ian’s nipple. Ian squeaks in surprise and then laughs, “Ouch, fucker!” 

“Fine, fuck off to Canada to be with your bearded boyfriend. See if he’ll put up with your high maintenance ass,” Mickey grouches, not really pissed off but if he can provoke Ian into some immature wrestling maybe he’ll get old school dry hump after all. 

“As if I’m the one with the more demanding ass in this marriage,” Ian scoffs, rubbing at the abused nipple. 

“Hell yeah I am. And I’m clever enough to bag myself unlimited access to exactly what it wants instead of lusting after some maple syrup slurpin’ pussy who probably couldn’t throw a decent fuck at me if his role in Deadpool depended on it,” he juts his chin to the screen for emphasis, and the little flash of fire in Ian’s eyes ignites something exciting at the base of Mickey’s spine. 

Ian kisses at Mickey’s jaw before turning his face to let his bristle stubble scratch against Mickey’s soft, pale skin. Mickey’s got a bit of a five o'clock shadow, but that’s as far as he ever lets it get. Any longer without shaving and Mickey’s face will start to look like he slapped glue across his chin and then gone rolling in cat hair. 

Mickey sighs as the familiar buzz tingles softly against his skin. 

“I love your skin,” Ian murmurs, moving to nuzzle behind Mickey’s ear. 

“That’s pretty creepy, Dahmer,” Mickey notes breathlessly, clutching at Ian’s elbow as he strokes Mickey’s jaw and neck. Ian laughs and nips at the shell of Mickey’s ear before turning his chin to drag the stubble down Mickey’s throat. 

“I like the little scratches I leave behind, like getting to see them when we’re out.” Ian’s voice is getting smoother and heavier with those low tones of lust Mickey only ever hears when they’re alone. He pushes Mickey onto his back and Mickey tilts his head, giving his husband more room to work and he drags his lips over the reddening flesh. 

“You would have a thing for beard burn,” Mickey scoffs, or well, attempts to scoff with his breath caught in his throat, but it’s impossible for him to pretend that he doesn’t love it too. Especially when Ian’s settling between Mickey’s thighs. Fuck, he didn’t even realise they’d slipped open, his body on autopilot, bending to Ian’s will. 

Ian pulls back to smirk down at Mickey. “Only on my hot as fuck husband.” 

Mickey lets out a heavy exhale. “Yeah?”

Ian nods and licks his already wet lips, biting hard on his bottom lip as he stares down at Mickey with a soft kind of hunger, like want and desire mixed with love and care. It still makes Mickey dizzy sometimes, to finally be the object of such unconditional need instead of a target of hate. Ian wants him, loves him, craves him — and it’s not down to a lack of options. Ian chose him. 

“Like seeing it on the backs of your thighs after I eat you out too,” Ian says, propping himself up with one hand as he digs the fingertips of the other into the meat of Mickey’s thigh. 

Mickey groans at that, dick twitching as his hips give a small, involuntary buck. He loves that too, loves the dull sting when he’s pulling on his underwear or sitting on a cold seat at the bus stop. “Fuck, Ian,” he whispers and Ian quickly dips down to capture Mickey’s open mouth in a messy kiss. 

The hardening bulge in Ian’s boxers presses into Mickey’s inner thigh and Mickey rubs up against it, fingers clutching at Ian’s sides. Ian kisses and kisses and _kisses_ Mickey until they’re both breathless with it, Mickey panting into Ian’s open mouth. He grabs at Ian’s perfect ass through his boxers, pressing him close and rolling his own hips up against his husband’s warm body. 

“I’m sorry your day sucked,” Ian pauses to say, pulling back and combing a hand through Mickey’s hair. 

“As long as it ends like this, it’s still a pretty good day,” Mickey replies, leaning up to nip at Ian’s jaw. 

Ian smirks. “That was actually pretty sweet, Mick.” 

“Mmm,” Mickey hums. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m a pretty sweet guy.”

Ian laughs and pecks at Mickey’s kiss swollen lips a few times. “You really are. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Not even your boyfriend, Ryan Reynolds?” Mickey teases and Ian snorts, amused. 

“He already knows all about you. I listed all your qualities in the break up letter I had to write him from jail.”

“Mm, is that so?” Mickey asks, tongue pushing against the back of his teeth as he tries to contain his grin. 

“Mmhm,” Ian nods, kissing the hollow of Mickey’s throat before trailing his lips between Mickey’s pecs. “Figured you weren’t into sharing,” he adds, shooting a smirk up at Mickey as he moves further down to place soft kisses around Mickey’s navel. 

Ian’s pale shoulders look blue as the light from the laptop bathes his skin in its glow, the movie now completely ignored. Mickey still throws a smirk towards stupid Ryan Reynolds before centering his attention back on Ian, who’s currently tucking his thumbs beneath the waistband of Mickey’s boxers, mouth still attached to Mickey’s skin. 

After pulling off Mickey’s boxers, Ian sits back and kisses down Mickey’s leg, pressing biting kisses into his calf muscle before pulling off Mickey’s socks. Mickey grins a wild kind of grin, just pure unbridled joy as Ian’s eyes run hungrily down Mickey’s body. 

When Ian lowers himself to take Mickey’s hard cock into his mouth, Mickey quietly curses at the ceiling. There’s still a hum of noise coming from downstairs as the rest of the family enjoy their evening, and it allows Mickey some cover to moan a little louder, knowing how much it gets to Ian. 

Moaning his approval around Mickey’s cock, Ian sucks harder, curling his fingers tight around the base to stop Mickey from thrusting up too much. 

Mickey rolls his shoulders back against the pillows, melting into the bed as the heat from his husband’s mouth starts to fog up his brain, robbing any words from his throat until all that comes out is a garbled mess of breathy moans. 

Suddenly Ian pulls back with a sloppy slurp, crawling up Mickey’s body to pull him into a wet kiss. Mickey groans, taking Ian’s face in both hands as he licks into Ian’s mouth. He can taste himself on Ian’s tongue and his brain is chanting _mine mine mine_ as he sucks the flavour of the both of them into his mouth. 

The spit collects the more they kiss, and it’s dirty and filthy and _them_ and Mickey fucking loves it. 

As abruptly as the kiss begins it ends, Ian pulling away and slinking back down Mickey’s body with a mouthful. Mickey watches with wide eyes and a slack jaw as Ian holds his cock in one hand and lets their mixed spit pour from his mouth and dribble down Mickey’s dick in a swirl, like pouring sauce over an ice cream sundae. 

“Motherfu—” Mickey moans, chin tucked tight against his chest as he clenches his teeth and tries not to come. Ian smirks devilishly as he wraps his lips around the tip and sucks, pressing his thumb into the underside as Mickey’s hips give a slow roll upwards. 

“Okay, okay,” Ian chuckles, jerking Mickey’s cock steadily. “I got you,” he drops a kiss onto Mickey’s hip before swallowing him down whole. 

Mickey threads his fingers into Ian’s hair as the warm wet pressure envelopes him whole. 

With Ian’s hands pulling at his hips, Mickey thrusts up into his husband’s mouth. He wants it to last but this feels amazing, and Ian’s working like he wants Mickey’s load now, and that in itself is pushing him closer to the edge. 

“Ian, fuck. Your mouth,” Mickey breathes, tugging tighter at Ian’s hair as Ian suck harder, moaning around Mickey’s cock as he palms at his balls. 

“Fuck, close,” Mickey manages to warn, and then suddenly Ian pulls off again to lay over Mickey’s body, claim his mouth and rut against him. 

“Mickey,” he groans, and Mickey’s hands fumble to pull Ian’s hard cock from his boxers. “Yeah, fuck yeah,” Ian agrees, pausing so that Mickey can get his boxers around his asscheeks. 

Then it’s glorious skin on skin, complete fucking marital bliss as they rut together. 

Moments later Mickey spills between them, his nails digging into Ian’s shoulders as Ian hides his face in Mickey’s neck, hips snapping forward urgently and untidily until he’s coming too. Mickey presses his lips to Ian’s temple as he rides out his orgasm, whispering secret praises only his husband will ever get to hear.

“Fuck,” Mickey laughs happily as they pant, and Ian pulls away from his neck to give Mickey a lazy, blissed out grin. He drops a few light kisses to Mickey’s chest, sighing as Mickey’s fingers find his hair again.

They pull apart after a few more moments of stillness and Ian pulls out the pack of wipes that’s jammed down the side of the bed to clean them both off. 

Mickey throws the used wipes towards the trash can as Ian rids himself of his boxers and socks before throwing the sheet over the pair of them and draping his naked body against Mickey’s. 

“Sorry you had a bad day too,” Mickey says quietly. 

Ian shrugs and presses his hand against Mickey’s chest. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

Mickey nods and kisses the top of Ian’s head lovingly. If this is how all bad days end, he can’t wait for the next one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on...  
> Tumblr: wildxwired  
> Twitter: wildxwiredsays


End file.
